Orion
by Violet911
Summary: There has been a struggle between nations and their 'other' counterparts, but the originals got the upper hand and they were never resurfaced again. Until now, since the Italians' birthday is fast approaching. 2Ps go to the 1P world in many NEW ways . . .
1. Orion

**A/N: Hello, my viewers! I, through some misdirection in Himaruya's blog site, have discovered the wonderful world of 2P!Hetalia characters~! And I hope that this story will spark the interest of all Hetalia fans, old and new, to convert to a darker side of their favourite characters.**

**This seems to be new to everyone, so I'll just make a short summary for 2P!Hetalia before I say the summary of this fanfiction.**

**So, does anyone know what 2P!Hetalia mean? Anyone in the audience at all?**

**[Crickets chirped behind her and a gust of wind blew tumbleweed into the scene, just passing Violet's feet for a second or two. She claps her hands with an exasperated smile.]**

**Right, no one is supposed to break the Fifth Wall. I'll just explain then.**

**2P stands for 2nd Player, for the people who don't usually play games. It is the character based off a game (or in this case, anime), but it is the complete opposite or darker version of the original.**

**So far, Himaruya has made Axis and Nyotalia!Axis & Allies 2P characters, though not officially claimed by the creator himself that these are the darker versions of our beloved characters. He just labelled them in 'Another Color'. But from the looks of fans (myself included), those pictures are easily interpreted as their darker selves, or at least, more badass than they are now.**

**There is still no 2P!Allies or the rest of the canon characters in Hetalia. Yet just from basing off from the Nyotalia ones, the fans were able to create and interpret the looks and personality of the 2P!Allies. Some individuals like to make their 2P character different to the others, but most can agree on one fanon for each character. **

**If you don't believe me, check DeviantArt. This new section of the Hetalia fandom spread so quickly, but we need more people. Much more fans.**

**Alright, let's get into this story, but I'll just mention one last thing to you all. I chose North Italy as my main character because (1) the show is named after him, (2) he is a character full of potential other than being a lovable loser that he is portrayed as, and (3) his other selves (Nyotalia and 2Ps) are very different from him yet still very similar (and I'm not talking about their physical description).**

**Well, you'll just find out what I mean later in the story.**

**Violet911 doesn't own anything you've seen or heard in the media.**

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><p><span>Prolouge<span>

It has happened to lots of nation by now. Once, twice, maybe even more in their long lives.

Triggered by a war, gaining imperialistic power or in the brink of destruction. Yes, these are probable causes that bring _them_ out. That makes _them _take over the nation's body, changing their physical and mental health in the process, just to shed some blood.

But _they_ can't stay in control, for as long as their originals — their light-hearted counterparts — resist, _they_'ll disappear to their own alternate dimension, as chaos and discord cease in their surroundings, lost and forgotten for the time being until _they _escape through the countries' minds once more.

When _they_ do come out again, their counterparts, little-by-little, practice how to expel _their other selves_ until there will come a time.

Of war.

Of power.

Of dissolution.

_They_ can never resurface again and was forgotten till then on.

Over the centuries, _they_'ve grown furious, possibly even mad, for being unable to cross to the other world for so long. None of their counterparts came close in setting _them_ free like from the past experiences being under their command, being sometimes unaware at what kind of 'business' they were doing. Yet eventually, _they_ lost interest in getting out so they caused mayhem in their own world, which satisfied them enough.

Except for one.

One who has been released only once in his lifetime, due to the original's agony from losing a love.

One who has inflicted pain on his young small body as a reaction to that agony, with a wicked sharp blade slicing a portion of the flesh, and no one else, for the original gained control once the tears stopped rolling down the cheek.

It didn't have time to hurt others in its counterparts. It didn't have time to satisfy its passion.

Oh, but it was patient. Very patient as the years went by. And while waiting, it searched and planned for a way to permanently control its counterpart's body.

Maybe, even send him to the hell hole _they_ are all staying in.

The dark counterpart chuckled as the thought lingered in his mind now that goal is nearing after a goodnight's sleep, thanks to a magic book and certain information he 'borrowed' from a nutcase, poison-loving Englishman living hidden in the woods. No matter how nice the 'gentleman' acted, it didn't clear the fact that he, and the rest of the so-called-united Allied Forces, is dangerous with this pointless wars happening every day.

Ah, well, good thing the Axis is neutral.

The Italian wouldn't want to stain his new uniform because of some _idiota _wanting to slice his neck open before his very special day that comes only once a year is approaching.

But, no matter.

He is sure, even if there was an _idiota_, that package he sent on that day will still fulfil his dearest wishes while he is slicing anyone who opposes him with his own golden blade.

And he better taste some blood afterwards.

"Fratello."

He didn't need to turn his purple gaze away from the surveillance screens that monitored and recorded every movement of his 'fellow' country embodiments with his revolving chair to know that it was his older brother speaking, just entering the dim-lit room very late in the evening.

"Did you get them, Romano?" he asked quietly, propping his chin on intertwined fingers that was supported by elbows on armrests.

The older Italian, Romano, said nothing. Hearing a huge thud behind the chair and retreating footsteps followed by a click of closed door, the younger gave a light smirk as he swivelled around to face his working desk with photos tapped in an organized and lined manner that filled the entire space of the mahogany desktop. On top of those photos were a stack of folders.

Humming a tune with a lyrics _'Draw a circle, there's the earth~'_ following along, the brunette stood up, carried the pile of documents without breaking a sweat, and left his office.

But, without tossing his polished knife up in the air and piercing a certain picture tapped at the middle of his table first.

That was a lucky sign.

His weapon whenever he leaves the room usually hit the pictures of his counterpart, wearing the first-class blue suit and waving pathetically a white flag in surrender, located at the sides of the surface.

This time, right as the long arm of the clock located on the wall beside the door hit twelve at midnight, the blade sliced right between the closed eyes of a smiling Italy Veneziano or, in human terms, Feliciano Vargas.

Not there were any more humans to hide their identities with. In _their_ world.

The Italian just likes to keep the name.

It was too nice of a name to share with anyone else.

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><p><strong>AN: And that's the end of the prolouge~!**

**I'll update this pretty soon. Hopefully. *sighs inwardly* I'm such a procrastinator . . . **


	2. The Shout Out

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, Himaruya owns it, but I don't know who owns 2P Hetalia . . .**

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><p><span>Chapter 1: The Shout Out<span>

_After a series of knife tapping on his arm chair, the leader of this whole crusade was waiting ever so patiently for their last member of their group._

_"Is he here yet?" growled a member, one of the first to come rendezvous on time, leaning back on the wall on the right with his nail-covered bloodied baseball bat absentmindedly swinging and certainly not hitting anyone on purpose. Though, from the trajectory of his swings hitting painfully at 'certain places not to be hit', the leader wouldn't be too sure, amused that a little entertainment is brought on before the busy day ahead._

_"Cut the crap with that bat," a 'supposedly' ex-nation hissed at the baseball bat's owner under his white hood, some chirping heard nearby his area. "He will come. He's late, as usual, but he'll definitely come . . ."_

_A boy, who looked very similar with the one who owns the bat, beside the hooded one snickered and said, "Asshole," very loudly, but the ex-nation didn't snap back, much to the boys' disappointment._

_Before the room could fall back into a silent phase, a cigar stub was flicked successfully to the hooded person's head, revealing very angry red eyes glaring across the room at blank lavender gaze._

_"What?" the red-eyed nation whispered, and even from their very safe distance being separated by their superior's chair, who was still amused as the 'fun' continues, the smoker could hear him perfectly._

_"I thought you were bringing Spain early," stated the smoker, earning him and the white hooded man incredulous and terrified expression from the other members, especially from the person who was previously standing proudly at the leader's left side now reduced to a hiding shadow of the commanding chair._

_"He's coming over early?" the chief asked, unaffected by the news, at the one who is filling his private room with deadly gasses from another roll of tobacco._

_The tanned man, placing an unused cigar behind his left ear to be hidden behind long locks of pale blond messy hair, shrugged while scratching his chin that wasn't shaved for a month or so._

_After hearing no reply, the coward behind the chair stood slowly and returned to his post beside his brother, well aware that all eyes were on him at the very moment. And he was ready for anything they throw at him as orderly as possible. The leader smirked at his stubbornness, being all used to it for their time spent together in the past._

_The waiting continued._

_But even before a measly five seconds could pass, someone else spoke._

_"Does anyone want a cupcake?" piped a cheery figure, peeking inside the room with his pinkish blue orbs through the crack of the door, half of his crazed smile visible even in the dark._

_A hand shot up immediately. "I'll have one," a deep Russian accent answered, its tall owner walking a few paces to fully opening the door with a bored frown, letting in one of the best chefs they could find without having the sole purpose to kill their customers._

_Often._

_"Heres, it tasty!" The small, pink-haired, figure handed a black cupcake with snow white whip cream on top from his silver platter filled with colourful sweets (with who-knows what's-in-them) to the volunteer, receiving a sincere smile in return. An occurrence that rarely happens._

_Someone snorted and behind the tall man came the smallest person currently in the room, wearing his army hat, as if he is trying to make himself more small and insignificant._

_But no one is that blind._

_"Typical countries, having friends and allies to make them stronger," said the small one, brushing a strand of his short black hair behind his ear then crossing his arms. "Extremely unnecessary. No one needs support. I survived without anything to fall back on for more than 4000 years. It always worked for me. If this plan didn't involve you" — he glared at the one seated at the desk, still-looking ever so smug — "having the key to finally slapping some sense in that other world, I would've declined the offer to join this group, especially since the tardy one—"_

_"Is here," said a dark figure, moving swiftly from the open door across the room before stopping in front of the table._

_"You are late," the leader said in a calm voice, his forehead touching the tips of his aligned fingers while his shoulders were propped perpendicular on the desktop, as if he was making a prayer._

_"I am aware," the figure answered, looking straight into the authority's pinkish-purple neutral gaze, not noticing a dull flicker of something dark out of the corner of his eye._

_"Be more respectful to your elders, ninja," growled a physically-scarred blond, who was flanking to the right of the commander like a dog proud to do his master's dirty work. He stepped forward and seized the collar of the shrouded one, lifting him a good few inches from the ground._

_The cloaked figure scowled back, taking of his dark mask to reveal blood-red eyes and an annoyed frown. "I onry follow him because he has power, but the only elder I will ever respect is Sensei!"_

_"I disagree to that," said the (previous) small one, after the ninja was released from the iron grip. "You are nothing to me. And I'm nothing to you, so you better take me out of your heart before I do it for you."_

_"Ooh, this getting interesting," the cupcake man squealed in delight, dropping his tray to clap, as if he was watching a great drama show. Completely understandable._

_However, out of nowhere, a yellow bird swooped in and pecked the pink-haired man, making him scream and run around in panic. The smoker couldn't care any less about the chaos as the two blond brothers with dangerous weapons at hand snickered with delight. The tall Russian was too busy eating his cupcake in a corner to notice._

_"Ve~!"_

_The world stopped moving, hypothetically yet literally speaking. They know that sign. This is making the leader impatient._

_No one wants that, not when he's this close to his goal._

_"Remember what we all talked about fighting," he said sweetly, slowing standing up from his chair to face his colleagues before raising his knife and suddenly piercing the picture tapped to the middle of his desk, right at the midpoint of his ditzy counterpart's curl. His brother winced as he pulled out his blade, leaving a deep and clean crack on the table. _

_"Strike when ready," they all said in union._

_The leader shook his head, putting back his knife inside his sleeve. "That's for the mission, but between each other . . ."_

_"Destroy the counterparts before destroying each other?" It sounded more like a question than an answer, but a wave of relief washed over them when the leader gave a brief nod accompanied with a scowl._

_"Now that we have our soldier," the Italian stated, looking at the ninja with a glint of amusement, "it is time to make the shout out."_

_"Hai!" The small black clad man turned to leave their presence to start the mission. But before he was out the door, the Italian added some last minute piece of advice._

_"Oh, you should really bow, or it would've been useless to use you to make the call."_

_The raven-haired man looked back, nodded, and was on his way._

_"Though unknown to our counterparts," he started saying to the rest of the members, grinning happily in their own morbid way, "this mission will be represented as a game of chess."_

_He snapped his fingers and the muscular blond placed a chess set in front of him, already set in formation, with the darker chess pieces facing him._

_He chuckled in delight, getting excited on what's to come as he picked the middle pawn, right in front of the king. "But we don't play by the rules! So the black make the first move, three spaces forward to be precise, with an ordinary-looking soldier to start all the destruction."_

_The Italian gave a wide smile, almost identical to his counterpart._

_Almost._

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><p>"A mirror?"<p>

Before the clock struck four a.m. in the Land of the Rising Sun, Japan received some furious knocks outside his house.

_Kami forbid, _he thought with a yawn as he fingered the edge of his door to slide it open, _if it's Alfred scared from the movie he requested to borrow from me. It is his own doing if he chose to be frightened in such a late hour and he shouldn't always come to me for support._

But when he looked out, he came face-to-face with himself.

Via mirror.

It was a tall rectangular upright mirror that viewed his whole body.

He stared at his confused face before scanning the surroundings before him for any sign of the person who left the vertical object on his front porch. There was none, not a trace of footprints or a presence of any kind, not even from the distance as far as he can tell with his tired old eyes.

"Strange," he murmured, placing his hand lightly on the glass. "This early in the morning, who would send me a mirror . . ."

That's when he noticed the tag hanging from the top edge of the mirror's frame with a piece of string wedge between the wood and glass. He took it gingerly, thinking it will hold some bad omen. He raised a brow when he read who the assumed gift was from.

"England?"

The pink note went like this:

**Dear Japan,**

**Sorry to bee a brother but I need you to keep this mirror. It's for the Italies' birthday!**

**Wear something fansy and come to my house. The others and me are planning their party.**

**Sincerely, England**

Something was nagging behind his mind, indicating that there was something wrong in this. Japan stifled a sigh. Half of his consciousness wasn't even awake yet, so he dragged the mirror to his room and returned to his _futon. _

Italy's birthday. It was today, in his time. Technically, his birthday will be tomorrow when the sun hits his part of the world but . . . all the same. It's his friend's birthday. Maybe he should help England preparing for his party . . .

But why would _England _plan for their party? England is acquainted to the Italy brothers as much they are to Russia. So, why . . .

His head hit the soft cotton of his _makura_ and the rest of his train of thought was erased with one blink of an eye.

. . .

Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore, in the name of all the spirits in his homeland, that his reflection stayed put. It was standing tall, glaring at him when he leaned it on the wall.

Like a picture trapped inside a frame.

_Well, _he thought as his eyelids fluttered to a close, _it must be my imagination._

"Or maybe a rost subconscious," a voice in the dark whispered.

_Yes, that too . . . _

Before he could tell if that was real or not, the Asian nation was falling fast asleep. But the voice was familiar . . . It sounded . . .

_Like me._

"Kazuhiko," Kiku muttered before his world went dark.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, end of chapter one. The Shout Out.**

**If you, whoever is reading this, is wondering why I named this fic, "Orion," it's because I was inspired by a song called "Shout Out to Orion" from an anime called _Uta no Prince-sama._ It's a really good song, and if read the translation, you'll understand why I thought of this fanfic.**

**Go to YouTube to listen to the song: ****/watch?v=65z9WFxOWLg**

**Ever procrastinating,**

**~Violet911**


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